Office to Farm

Otago Daily Times, Issue 26200, 10 July 1946, Page 2

Office to Farm

An Ex-Soldier’s Narrative

For the Daily Times, by N. R. 11,

This is the seventh article in the series in which a returned serviceman, who is training under Rehabilitation to become a farmer, describes his first experiences on the land. The writer before the war was in the public service.

" If y6u are not born with an ear. for music, you will never learn to play the violin, and if you are not born with an eye for a sheep you‘ll never make a good sheep farmer. Experience counts a lot, but you must have the eye for them. I've been sheep farming for over 40 years, and I am still learning new things and learning them from my mistakes. The man who has an eye for sheep knows when to move them on to new pasture, some days before the ordinary man will notice that they are becoming short of feed.” This, from an experienced and successful sheep man, is the sort of thing which is very useful to a beginner. Just what constitutes “ an eye for a sheep ’’ may be difficult to define, but the analogy of the violin player is as close to a definition as one can get It gives the learner some qualms, in case he has not the gift, but he can only go on, trying to learn all there is to be known about sheep, in the hope that time will give him, or develop in him, the necessary ability. Certainly the most difficult part of sheep farming is in the adequate feeding of stock at all times, so that they have no check in growth, or with the ewes, so that they go ahead in condition and produce healthy lambs. Unhealthy ones seldom seem worth all the trouble they cause. Distractions There are times when one begins to doubt if the main business of the farm is really sheep. So many other things require to be done, and their connection with sheep is not always obvious at the time. Gardening is a hobby, and it is a pleasure, but it is a necessity as well. Country people require vegetables, but they cannot telephone the greengrocer and order what they want; they must grow it, and this takes time. The Black Witch, as the new cow is now called, takes an unconscionable time, twice daily (a) to entice into the bail, and (b) to milk. We need milk in order to keep lusty youth in good condition (and country school children are not supplied with milk in school), and there is no milk delivery. Firewood is plentiful, but it must be cut and collected, and this is a long process. Yet it is essential, and wood is not purchased when one has plenty on the farm. Meat must be killed and dressed for food, and though the expert makes short work of it, the beginner finds it a complicated and laborious business. These things appear to have little to do with sheep, but they are an essential part of living on the land, and each one of them has to be learned; each one has its own short cuts, and there is a right and a wrong way to do each. Left to myself, I usually choose the wrong way. It is when a series of these necessary chores comes in one day that one begins to wonder where the sheep come in, Freeze So far, the winter has been exceptionally mild. We have had frosts, but the feature of the weather which is new in my experience (with one exception, in North Italy) is the wind which freezes without a frost. Loris has learned a lesson from her experience. Sheets and tablecloths were left on the clothesline overnight in a fairly strong wind. Before long, they began to clatter like skeletons on a gibbet, and by morning they had dashed themselves into splinters at the ends. The same deceptive wind froze the water pipes until after mid-day on one occasion this week, and I arrived home to a mid-day meal without vegetables and a pile of unwashed breakfast dishes. “ You can’t cook vegetables without water,” Loris remarked, rather unnecessarily, I thought, “ and the only water available for tea is in the'hotwater bottle.” Admittedly I was responsible for the frozen condition' of the pipes, but I drew the line at drinking from a hot-water bottle, A little judicious tapping and easing of turncocks produced a generous flow of water, and comparative quiet was restored. Feline Oswald is a venerable cal (the heaq cat), who always wears immaculate evening dress with white spats He looks somewhat younger than liis great grandson, Oswald IV, but, except that Oswald IV contrasts a black nose with the white one of Oswald I, the two gentlemen are almost identical. Oswald V, being as yet only halfgrown, is easily distinguishable, but when he attains maturity will certainly “take after” his great-great-grandsire to a marked degree. Strange in a gentleman cat who is so set in his ways, Oswald I has adopted us and pays regular visits (usually at meal times, in a dignified manner which confers favours. In the evening Oswald presents himself for a session in front of the fire, and is most offended when he is finally emptied into the night. The farm cats appear to do very little cat work, but they must be maintained, despite the mouse holes in the chaff sacks. A rabbiter in the district has taken severe toll of the cats in his area, and the farmers find that their lazy felines must have been doing some good, because they are now overrun by mice. Our cats have become used to taking a percentage of all milkings, and there is a cat tin in the cow byre in order that they may receive their milk fresh. I tried them with some skim milk this week, but they ignored it and sat beneath the cow during milking in order to play at “ squirts.” The ginger cat is best at squirts—he can catch a squirt at three feet and not miss a drop. Cats can forget this game," and one animal which was once an expert catcher, but which absented himself for a time, now takes a squirt full in the face without opening his mouth, except to lick the milk off—a most un-cat-like proceeding. Oswald I and IV, of course, will never descend to such juvenile antics. The remainder of the cats usually form a convoy for the cows at milking time. They come bounding across the fairway to meet the cows at the gate, as they come in, and return joyfully hopping about in front. The cows dislike cats, and usually bend down to sniff disdainfully at them before passing on in contemptuous silence. They like cats less still when I refuse to squirt and the cats try their claws at milking. Equine Two young visitors from town this week, all agog to learn all about the country. The older one was to remain only three or four days and began to make the most of her short holiday by cycling with our 13-year-old Geoff. Unfortunately, there was only one bicycle, and. with steep hills and frozen ruts, they managed to come to grief a mile or so from home. Abrasions and cuts were numeorus and fairly severe, and comparative quiet reigned for the ensuing 24 hours. After the doctor had announced that they would live, they gradually came to life, and the farm work was greatly helped by attendance. The next escapade was an attempt to ride the Shetland. If ever a girl deserved a satisfying ride on a pony, Marjorie did, because she spent the best part of an afternoon in trying to catch him. Having by devious feminine wiles lured him into the stable and closed the door, she called Loris to her aid in dressing him. They managed to get the bridle into place to their satisfaction, although the pony later demonstrated that he could shake it off, but came to the conclusion that the saddle would not fit. The fact that it had fitted on the previous day was explained away by noting that he had eaten so much since then that it just would not go on. So Marjorie decided to ride without a saddle and with her arm still in a sling. A sharp slap, intended to set the pony in motion was so successful that Marjorie was upended, fell beneath the pony was jumped over and kicked, all before she was properly seated. I should hate to think that the high school had taught her all the Latin names she called that pony. She announced her hatred of ponies and of riding. One most appealing thing stout horses, according to young feminine ideas, is the manner in which they ” sit down" I pointed out to Marjorie that horses lie down: they do not sit,

In due course they all took a turn in lying down for hei edification but to ny amazement and horror. Nugget decided to sit. Few more appalling sights could be witnessed among farm animals than that of a huge working horse sitting on his haunches like a dog. I should never have believed such a thing possible, had I not been present, but my prestige as an oracle has gone, as far as Marjorie is concerned. * Footnote I now realise why people count sheep when they wish to go to sleep. After about the 1500 tally to-day, I. was positively giddy. Endless woolly heads rushing past, as one stands in a narrowed gateway—every sixth one or so making a pause and then a violent spring into the air as it crosses the “dead-line”—leaves one quite incapable of deciding if two more sheep after 84 make 176 or. indeed, if they are capable of addition at all.